Coastal Crimes & Stories

While I’ve been happily buried in memoir pages and small stories over on this blog, something unexpected happened: my travel blog woke up, stretched, and decided it wanted attention again. It turns out Santorini is very persuasive. One minute I was minding my own business, the next I was surrounded by blue domes, jet‑skiing James Bond hopefuls, and quad‑bike novices wobbling into the sunset — and suddenly I had far too much to write about to keep it all to myself. So yes, Blue Sky Travels is officially up and running again. Same me, same camera, same tendency to get distracted by odd characters and overheard conversations. Just with more sunshine and the occasional mule braying in the background. If you fancy a wander through the chaos, the highlights, and the accidental comedy of island life, you’ll find it all here: Blue Sky Travels https://myblueskytravels.blogspot.com Now, back to the writing desk… until the next adventure interrupts.

  When I step out into the back garden of my cottage by the sea, the morning feels as though it has been waiting for me. The air carries that soft coastal brightness Pembrokeshire does so well — a kind of quiet shimmer that settles on everything it touches. By the old stone wall, the fern is already beginning its slow unfurling. Each frond loosens from its tight curl with the unhurried confidence of something that has all the time in the world. I watch it open, one spiral at a time, as if the day itself is stretching awake. A hint of sea breeze moves through the garden, lifting the edges of the new green. Sunlight catches on the tiny hairs along the stem, turning them briefly golden. And in that small moment — just me, the fern, and the hush of the coast — nature feels wonderfully simple again. Quiet. Certain. Doing exactly what it knows how to do. And I find myself opening with it, just a little, as the morning settles around my Pembrokeshire garden.